


Sleepless Nights

by The_Depressed_Huffle_Puffle



Series: Sleepless Nights [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defenders
Genre: Author Lance (Voltron), BAMF! Lance, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Dark, Depressed Lance, Everyone gets hurt at somepoint, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Langst, M/M, Overwhelmed Lance (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Self-Harm Lance, Sleepless nights, Suicidal Lance, Torture, Trigger Warnings, author lance, drowned Lance, insane Lance, lance mcclain - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-05-09 00:29:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14705700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Depressed_Huffle_Puffle/pseuds/The_Depressed_Huffle_Puffle
Summary: A collection of short one-shots written when the author cannot fall asleep and therefore writes instead.





	1. One-Way Mirror

Watching Lance when he's alone is, for lack of better term, strange.

To see how this joyful person who never stops talking and sprouting stories from the top of his head can be so silent, so much so that one could assume him dead. It was terrifying and could reduce a person to nothing

Witnessing the bright blue that is his eyes cloud over in a hazy fog would leave anyone second-guessing what they thought they knew of the Red Paladin.

 Lance tended to wander around the castle when he couldn't sleep. The tendency soon turned to habit then routine. He stalks the halls, smothering his footsteps with his head down, fists stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He'd brush his shoulder against the walls, taking small breaks from his travels along the never-ending corridors. He'd wander aimlessly until he found himself in the Astronomy Tower. 

The Tower itself was not a tower. It was more so like a large room with a high metal ceiling that could collapse to reveal a glass dome, allowing the person inside to see the constellations that mocked him. Their dance and freedom like name calling and their flickering stars beckoning Lance to join them.

Lance would sit with his back against the wall, shivering when his back makes contact with the freezing temperatures the walls tended to be. He'd pull on the white hoodie and rest is head on top of his knees. His palms would find their way around his bent legs, pulling them closer to his chest as he'd observe the world outside of the castle.

He'd accept the quiet, electing to sit in silence than to divulge himself in the unnecessary noise he would find himself in.

Sometimes, however, Lance wouldn't be the only one unable to sleep. The Paladins and Alteans would often find him in the room, quiet and still like fragile glass waiting to break and shatter with the slightest noise or the most delicate touch. 

They'd observe the silent and sunken eyes of the Red Paladin. The harshness of a child who turned into a soldier. A brother who turned into a savior.

The broken who turned to the shattered.

They realize how similar Lance was to a one-way mirror. Lance could look through and see the truth behind everyone's windows, no matter how foggy or abandoned they may be. He was willing to clean it and repair the window and could rebuild it from pieces.

But for the rest of the paladins, they only saw what Lance allowed him to see. A black mask that hindered even the most dedicated of people from peering inside. The mask that reflected a bright personality. The mask that showed a goof-ball who only cared about fun and girls.

But sometimes, when looked at in a certain perspective (though they'd have to crane their neck and fall a little) the paladins could see Lance's true nature. The one that he tried so hard to hide.

The side that cared deeply and took every word to heart. The side that yearned for happiness and the well-being of those around him. The side that screamed every insecurity at him. The side that tore him apart until all that was left was the remains of what he once was: The boy who cared for his family and would do anything for their safety.

They would get angry at first, how dare he hide so many things about him but know everything about them.

Then they'd understand why.

That they were in a war. That they'd been shot at, blown-up, poisoned, tortured, and on a tightrope between life and death. That Lance could never be the same person he was, no matter how much he yearned for his old self. That he would never be the smiling, happy-go-lucky guy that his mother and siblings knew before he was sent to space.

They'd understand that Lance's mirror was set up for the benefit of the team, even if the cost was himself.

Even if the mirror's shattered glass was the reason for Lance's death two years after the war had been won.


	2. Useless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: When was the last time you felt needed?

Lance was useless.

 There was no arguing needed to figure this out.

 Being the youngest normally meant having to do chores in the house so he was used to constantly moving about.

Normally he'd take out the trash, help Mama cook, do his school work, watch over his nieces and nephews, help Marco with his tasks, make sure Veronica ate and helped Marco relax after work.

Space was different. There was no trash to be taken, no mother to help cook, no school work to be done, no children to play with nor any siblings to take care of.

 Lance found a replacement for those tasks though. He tidied up rooms that sat for 10,000 years, he washed pods with Corran, made sure Pidge ate, checked on Hunk's anxiety and helped him cook, talked about Altea with Coran and Allura, helped Shiro relax, and made certain Keith took breaks in training.

 But after a while, everything fell into order.

 There were no rooms left to clean. Corran fixed the auto-cleaning mechanism for the pods. Pidge started eating, opting to bring her item of interest to the table and began caring for herself. Hunk settled down and ushered Lance out of the kitchen. Allura and Coran accepted the loss of Altea and no longer needed to reminisce about their times there to Lance. Shiro can identify triggers and knows when to break away when things become too much. Keith found other past times other than training endlessly in the training room and no longer needed to be told to take a break. Lance was glad everyone was doing well.

But where did that leave him?

 Once the support, he was discarded to the side without a care.

He couldn't fight like Shiro and Keith. He wasn't smart like Pidge and Hunk. He couldn't control the castle like Allura and Coran. 

So where did he stand in all of this? He was the seventh wheel, unnecessary and useless.

But he still stayed, stepping in when needed. Providing support until they were done with him and pushed him aside once more. Lance had come to terms with it.

To take the abuse and be the punching bag for his team. To take the blame for his team. To take hits for his team. To find some way to be useful but the search to end up fruitless. After all at the end of the day,

Lance was useless.


	3. Kill me First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paladins are hard to break.

Lance fell to the floor, his hands bloodied and bruised from his previous attempts to escape. His knees made contact with the cement ground first, causing Lance to cry out in pain.

One of the Galra behind him picked him up by the back of the collar of his shirt, hauling him to hang in the air. His air supply was rapidly depleting due to the front of the shirt digging into his neck.

"General, be sure not to completely kill the human. Only break," a voice warned him before falling silent. Footsteps could be heard before a door opened and closed, leaving Lance with the general.

The general then threw Lance to the floor once more, laughing as his body bounced across the cell only for his momentum to be stopped by a metal wall.

 Lance winced as he felt his shoulder pop out of his socket. He tried to think past the pain when a foot connected to his rib, sending him backward. Lance skidded before he got into a kneeling position, one hand over the shoulder he'd injured.

 “Just tell us and your pain will cease," The Galra soldier promised, his voice turning sickly sweet. He stood in front of the red paladin, sneering down at him.

Lance spat out blood, the liquid connecting with the general's boot, "no."

Taking Lance by the arm, the gave him lunch into his stomach before flinging him across the cell once more. Lance screamed as he landed on his shoulder. "Tell us," The Galra edged closer, his footsteps echoing through the cell mixing with Lance's pants and grunts of pain, "where is the red lion?"

Lance shook his head, he didn't know where Red was but the Galra didn't need to know that. Keeping quiet would help the others, he knew that. "N-no."

The general grabbed Lance by the neck, pinning him to a wall, "where is Voltron?" His nails dug into his skin.

Lance smiled, his pearly whites covered in red, "you'll-" Lance gasped as the hand around his squeezed, "you'll... have to.." trying to loosen the grip, Lance clawed at the hand around with both of his own, "kill me."

The Galra smiled, his yellow eyes widening and his ears perking up, "so be it."

Lance screamed once more before feeling the darkness overwhelm him.


	4. Space isn’t all too bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can be found in its own separate work alone. Wasn’t sure if this counted as a Sleepless Night since I did write it at 2 in the morning three or four hours before I needed to get up so-

Fuck it.

 

He was going to die and god forbid if the last thing he did wasn't to clear the palace of innocents.

"What the actual-" Lance swore, his eyes scanned the room in a hurried glance before dashing across to the other side. There was a stab wound in his abdomen, blood pouring from the wound with every step he took. In his hand was a small child, skin blue with starry freckles gracing her skin.

Pulling her along, Lance ran through several doors, finding nothing but dead ends. Each room never had an exit and this planet, despite how smart their people are, hadn't invented windows yet leaving Lance without the option of busting his way out of the palace. 

Lance turned to the girl, grabbing her shoulders tight and staring her in the eyes, "We're going to get out of here, okay?" He wiped at the clear tears that fell from her face. The girl nodded curtly, curly forest green hair bouncing around her head. Lance felt a pang If hurt in his chest. He needed to get her out of here. 

Lance pressed his coms, trying to open a channel to any of his team. Static answered him back and he had to bite back a swear.

Smoke filled the area and it was starting to become suffocating. Lance threw open a door and ran into the bathroom, grabbing what resembled a towel. He turned on the tap, letting the water some through the fabric. He squeezed out excess water and turned the the girl. 

She reached up for the cloth, only for Lance to shake his head. He took off his helmet, sticking it on her instead. The helmet adjusted so that it fitted well on the girls head.

Lance took the cloth for himself, covering his mouth and nose with it. He grabbed the little one's hand and gently pulled her away from the room.

Lance turned away from the girl, kneeling down so that the girl could climb onto his back. "Hang on," he called out just moments before jumping down flights of stairs and skipping steps. His chest contracted at the terrified gasps and sobs in his ears.

He ran down the hall way, his eyes burning and his head becoming lighter. He could barely breathe and the weight he was carrying wasn't helping.

Coming around the corned, Lance couldn't help but sigh in relief.

Shiro barked orders at Hunk, pointing to the west at a group of civilians pouring water over the burning embers.

Hunk nodded in affirmation.

The girl pulled at the armor on his shoulder. She leaned her head against the back of his neck, allowing Lance to hear the cutting of voices through his helm.

"Where- ..find him! Kei-.. water the fir- ... Pid-"

Lance willed himself a little further, the entrance so close. His feet was cement under him, dragging his heels across the floor.

He felt hands on his person, pulling the girl off of him.

He looked up into the worried eyes of Hunk, the latter taking Lance's wet cloth and putting it against his forehead in attempts to cool him off.

He could hear someone calling for a medic and another telling someone he needed to get into a pod.

He couldn't focus that much. The air around him was still too thick and his place on the floor was far more comfortable than should be. 

Lance's eye lids grew heavy and with a sigh, he let them fall.

 

-

 

"He's up."

Lance blinked, the light in his face blinding him. The familiar warmth of the chest he was leaning against.

"Hunk?"

Hunk smiled at his friend, "Hey, Buddy. You have a big of a scare there."

" 'm sorry," Lance mumbled. He pushed himself away from Hunk, the feeling in his legs returning.

Lance bit his lip, "how long have I been out?"

Hunk titled his head, looking up at the ceiling of the castle walls, "I'd say about four days or so."

The color left Lance's face as panic surfaced, "How about the girl? If she okay? Did she make it? Is she with her parents? Is anything-"

"Woah, Bud. Calm down. She's fine, thanks to you. She had a little bit of health problems due to inhaling smoke and debris but you did a good job keeping her away from life threatening stuff. 

Relaxing slightly, Lance sighed, "Good."

"She wrote a letter or something to you."

 "Huh?" Lance raised an eyebrow, not comprehending the whole sentence. 

"She left you a letter of some sort," Hunk shrugged. "I didn't open it. It wasn't my business. But oh my goodness, she was the sweetest little thing. She was so shy! She spent the whole day by your pod. We had to keep telling her to stop apologizing!" 

Lance smiled fondly at the paper Hunk handed to him, "yeah?"

"Yeah." Hunk watched Lance stare at the latter. "I'm going to go get the rest of the team."

Lance raised his lips in a soft appreciation. He kept his gaze on the paper as Hunk walked out.

The letter was handled with maximum care, not a single crease or fingermark tainted the blue of the paper.

Lance stuck his nail under the sticker, pulling open the top of the envelope. Instead was a white sheet of paper folded neatly in half to it the larger envelope. Lance pulled out the paper, delicately opening the pages.

In the paper was a scribble of Lance's first interaction was the young civilian.

Lance was kneeling on the ground, helmet under one arm. He was smiling at a drawing of the girl he'd saved. She was holding a blue flower, one of the native wildflowers in the area.

Lance could remember taking the flower from the girl's hand, smelling the sweet scent of chocolate and peppermint, and thanking her for the present. He could remember ending his conversation with a small hug of appreciation.

On the bottom there was a small scribble in English, albeit messy from probably copying from one of the paladins.

"Thank you."

 Lance folded the paper back up, sticking it back into the envelope. He placed it on top of the pile of clothing on the table. Lance couldn't help but smile.

 

Being in space wasn't so bad.


	5. You’d Touch Me (and I’d Fall Apart)

Lance liked physical touch.

He liked hugs and casual touches like pats on the back and short punches to the arm when making a particularly bad joke. He liked to hold hands with his friend and leaning on them as they talked.

But this was with friends.

Lance couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable when others did it. For example, that kid in his gym class who would wrap his arm around Lance’s neck and drag his around like a trophy wife or when the same person would hug him and put his hands lower than Lance was okay with.

He hates when the girl he’d rejected a few months prior would touch him. Lance had tried to ignore the even but she’d always find a way to bring it up. She would touch him in ways that were so casual, they felt _wrong_.

A single hand on the shoulder left scorch marks and a simple lean on his body caused his entire being to ache. He’d asked her to stop touching and flirting with him after she’d overstepped boundaries to which she apologized.

Lance was happy again.

Good things, however, last for so long. The girl reentered his life, this time befriending one of his closest friends at the time. She’d start to grab his hand by saying she was cold. She’d size up his body, staring at him up and down. She’d join conversations and she’d interrupt  his sentences. Lance couldn’t do it anymore.

Hunk took notice and began to get between Lance and the girl. He’d find excuses for Lance to leave or offer to switch seats and Lance couldn’t have been more thankful.

Then Hunk met someone and Lance was defenseless. Lunch was spent in fear as Hunk would leave after eating to join his lover. 

She’d tell Lance that she loved him and that he was pretty and beautiful. She’d tell his friend about things he never did, causing them to grow apart. She’d pressure him to go to her house to which he always declined. She’d say that she knew Lance, that she understood him and that she’d figured out everything about him and his complex personality.

If she knew then why wouldn’t she leave him alone?

Lance no longer wanted to go to school, to go outside, to do anything in fear of something happening.

Lance no longer wanted to be touched. Every movement made him wince. He couldn’t be touched without seeing who was initiating it or if he initiated it himself. A hand in his own felt like she was touching his and a congratulatory pat on the back felt like the numerous time’s she’d touched his there. 

Lance was afraid of physical contact and it tore him apart.

* * *

 


	6. Learn From These Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: mention of self-harm

“Sir?” **  
**

Lance felt a sudden tug on his sleeve attempting to draw his attention. Looking down, Lance locked eyes with a small child the height of his waist.

Lance crouched down in front of the alien, greeting them with a warm smile. The child tugged on Lance’s sleeve once more, pursuing the Red Paladin to kneel to the child’s height.

The boy in front of Lance was small; purple skin adorned with small blue freckles. Curly hair poofed out around his head, a few stray strands falling in front of the child’s face, hiding the green eyes that stared at Lance.

Lance brushed the hair out of the smaller one’s face, tucking it behind the elfish ears. “Pleasure to meet you,” Lane stuck out a hand, “I’m Lance, you?” Lance encouraged the boy to step further, noting how the alien had inched away during the interaction. He was adorable, reminding Lance of his younger family members.

The small child rubbed one of his eyes, a red blush flooding his face from embarrassment. Lance watched as the child opened his mouth, trying to get sentences to form, only to close it once more.

Slightly waving his hand, Lance prompted the alien into action. He smiled as the hesitant palm was placed in his own fingers. The child watched with wild curiosity as Lance shook his hand.

Lance was careful with the action, barely applying any pressure for fear of scaring the purple alien. He chuckled a little once he let go, watching as the alien examined his hand.

“It’s called a handshake,” Lance supplied, a delightful smile gracing his lips. “Humans do it to each other when they first meet to show respect. Lance formed his hand into a fist, nudging the child’s hand to do the same, “And this, my friend,” Lance bumped his fist against the kid’s, “Is a fist bump. We do it to show friendship and trust as well as comfortability with a person.

The child giggled, their hand uncurling to cover their mouth. Lance couldn’t help but do the same, a hearty laugh escaping him.

“Me’nei,” A woman placed her hand on the child’s shoulder.

By the action, Lance could only think that the older woman was the child’s mother. Lance silently thanked the woman for revealing the child’s name. Lance had thought that he would never find his name and that he’d be gone forever.

The woman smiled down at her son, a soft smiled adorning her face, “Show his what you have made.”

Me’nei blushed, pulling his other hand from out of behind his back. There, in a balled, purple fist, was a flower crown arranged in flowers with different hues of red and blue.

Lance grinned, leaning down allowing Me’nei to place the crown on top of his head. Me’nei beamed, placing the arrangement onto Lance’s head.

“Thank you,” Lance wrapped his arms around the fragile body, taking note of how delicate the boy was in everything. Me’nei was still for a few moments before collapsing around Lance’s neck, digging his face into Lance’s neck.

Lance sat still, cradling Me’nei for a while longer. Reaching up to adjust the falling flower crown to keep it from falling into his eyes.

Lance’s heart dropped as small hands wrapped around his wrist, pulling them down in front of the alien child.

“Are you hurt?” Me’nei pulled up Lance sleeve, revealing white scars that littered his forearm. Most of them had faded, blending into Lance’s natural skin tone There were a few, however, that stuck out from Lance’s normally tan and smooth complexion.

Me’nei frowned,  “Who did this?” The Red Paladin could not be in injured, it would impact the entire universe far too much.

Lance looked at Me’nei in the eyes, grabbing onto his hands, “I did, a long time ago.”

“What for?”

Lance watched as Me’nei pulled his hands away. Lance didn’t pull down his sleeves, leaving them out and open for judgment as he had feared his entire life.

“Once, a long time ago, I had to fight against myself. I believed that I wouldn’t be able to take the pain. Instead of listening to the voices I would… hurt myself… to get some kind of control. I would tear at myself for a peace of mind. Even know that is senseless but-”

“I believe you are brave,” Me’nei interrupted. The child gripped both of Lance’s hands. “Despite your pain you are here, are you not? You didn’t have to save my planet and I yet you did.” Me’nei smiled, “Putting others before yourself takes courage. You’ve taken your past struggles and have grown from them. Now it’s time for you to leave them behind.”

Lance felt the tears well up in his eyes, “I- I don’t-”

“The Past is what creates you but it does not define you.” Me’nei squeezed Lance’s hands, “Learn from these scars, Lance. For they hide more knowledge than you think.”

Lance ran a finger along one of the white scars.

Lance pulled the child into his lap, crying and muttering small ‘thank you’s.

“Thank you, Me’nei,” Lance squeezed the boy once more before letting go. He back up, watching the retreating figures of his teammates. Lance brushed a flower out of his face. “You’re going to make a fine man someday.”

Me’nei grinned, “I learned from the best.”

Lance laughed, giving a final hug before turning to walk away.

“You sure did, Bud. You sure did.”


	7. Hummingbirds and Moleskine Journals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author Lance au that went a lot further than I expected it to go.

For Lance, writing wasn’t just a hobby.

It was a coping mechanism. 

When something bad would happen to him, he would write about it, trying to get his feelings out. It was healthy, in a way of not destroying himself as he would some other times. 

He could do anything when he wrote. Maybe it wasn’t _him_ doing it, but each of his characters had a piece of Lance embedded in him. A piece of his mind in each thought, in each action, and in each piece of dialogue each person said. So maybe it wasn’t him going on grand adventures, but he was there for every step of the journey.

Writing isn’t just putting words on paper. It was making someone’s life better, one word at a time. It was creating a whole universe where all of his dreams could come true. 

Maybe that’s why he was able to publish his works so early. That was the reason he was able to get into the garrison in the first place; his scholarship for writing. 

He published his first book when he was 15, it was called the “Hummingbird’s Solace”. He published it under a false name, fearing for the press since he was only a minor. It was about a man facing depression, trying to find the good in life when he felt nothing left for to him to find. 

He poured his entire being into that book. It was more of a biography than anything. Him talking about his own experiences and putting them all into a person- a more  _ real _ person, a person who his readers could relate to. 

He didn’t really have good grades, he was more or less average. He wasn’t an outstanding pilot or a rising scientist who could discover a billion different ways to do a million different things or an inventor who could create the next big thing. 

He was a writer, first and foremost. 

But when he found out about piloting? Piloting was something else. It was freedom, for him. He didn’t have to stay behind the pages, living life vicariously through one of his characters. He was able to do it. He was going to find something that would make him proud of himself, to make him worth something. 

It reminded him that, that was the reason he started writing. Seeing a person’s fine smiling down at the pages as one of his characters does something mildly offensive or watching them laugh  as his characters joke around after a long journey. Feeling the heartbreak of the main character as someone they loved dies, only to be reminded of their death in a later chapter. 

That was why he was writing; reminding people to be empathetic. Reminding them that there are people who face things every day and to never underestimate or invalidate their feelings just because of the chance that there is someone out there who is having a equally or more of a bad day as them. 

But then Voltron happened and… writing was in the past.

So when he found Keith and Pidge discussing and reading his books, he felt proud that someone, even if one of them was his rival, was enjoying them. 

“I think it’s just a title.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that he meant that his mind was always moving around at a fast pace and so his depression is like a hummingbird.”

“I agree with Pidge, though I’m pretty sure he meant more than that,” Lance pipped from his seat, spoon in hand pointing at the Green Paladin. 

Pidge smiled, “Hah!” 

“You know that one myth that goes something like, ‘If a hummingbird stops flying, it’s dead?’” Lance asks, watching intently as Pidge and Keith both nod. “I think that the hummingbird symbolizes that idea. The idea that depression, the continued pain and suffering that someone goes through when dealing with it, only stops when they’re dead. So the entire story is about the main character’s struggle to quiet his thoughts and trying to find other ways to control them than the easy way of taking his life.” 

“That… that’s actually a really good theory,” Keith complimented. “It makes sense.”

Pidge shrugged, “I think it’s a stretch but there’s a lot of different theories around it.”

Lance walked over to where Pidge and Keith were, plopping down on one of the couches next to the two. “Like what?” 

Lance had read some of the theories around his book, enjoying the fact that he was the only one who completely understood it. The joy of writing was that everyone has their own imaginations and Lance loved to play around with it. Leaving things vague at time and letting theories gather up before revealing the truth. It was always worth seeing everyone’s reaction. 

“The author killed himself right after and this entire thing was a suicide note or the author wrote this in a mental institution. Stuff like that,” Pidge continued scrolling through her phone, looking at a wiki page of the book. 

Wrote it in a mental institution? Lance supposed highschool isn’t that far off in hindsight. 

“I don’t think that’s the case, but any other… more plausible theories?” Lance asked Pidge, not wanting to hear about Lance’s death rumors.

“Isn’t there one where the author’s actually some highschool student?” Lance froze. Keith pointed a finger at Pidge, “She doesn’t think that it’s possible.”

Lance frowned, “Why not.” It was the correct theory, after all. He’d heard of it before, having a mental breakdown for fear of someone finding out. He remembered the overwhelming panic and how he felt as if breathing was impossible. 

Pidge set down her phone, pulling her laptop into her lap. She typed for a few seconds before turning her attention to the boys. “It’s just… the entire concept of the book seems way too complex for someone who hasn’t graduated. The portrayal of depression, the hidden themes, the way the author plays around with the audience. It seems way too much for a simple high schooler to do.”

Turning to look at Pidge, Lance crossed his arms. “But you’re young and you managed to hack into the Garrison. What if the writer was like that too? Maybe they were smart too.”

“If they were anywhere near as smart as you, Lance, we wouldn’t have a book but a stick with some string attached to it,” Keith teased, poking Lance in the arm while kicking his feet out. 

That… that was low, even for Keith. “Just because I’m not a prodigy like  _ you _ , Keith, doesn’t mean that I’m not good at  _ something _ .” Lance bit, his voice harsher than he meant. 

Keith’s grin melted into a concerned frown and Lance felt the guilt of his actions weigh down on him. “You alright?”

Lance offered Keith a shy smile, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so…” Lance made a motion with his hands, “Ya know?”

Keith only batted his hand, “It’s fine. I was mean of me to say that, anyway.”

“As I was saying,” Pidge interrupted, getting the attention of the current and ex Red Paladins, “It doesn’t seem possible. I mean, sure, maybe the writer could be a student, but I’d like to believe they’re a college level student who’s studying the subject.”

Lance nodded in agreement, his stomach turning. Maybe he wasn’t smart enough to have written the book. After all, this was a serious topic. He didn’t know the specifics around it. He only wrote about what happened to him and how it affected him. He didn’t bother to find the science around it. It didn’t really interest him. It was always, this is how he felt and this is how he’ll feel until he gets help. 

So when Pidge and Keith turn into a different conversation and Lance has managed to fade into the background, he left. Not wanting to bother them any further. 

-

“It’s a journal.”

The alien in front of him smiled, offering it up to Lance once again. “It’s our honor to host the Paladins of Voltron. Please, take this gift.” The alien pulled out a pen from his pouch, stacking it on top of the black moleskine journal before sticking it out into Lance’s hands. 

Lance looked around at the rest of his team, all of them receiving gifts of some sort. Hunk was given spice that he thought could only be found on Earth, Pidge was gifted a new electronic device, and Keith a knife that he kept twirling around. Allura got a bag of seeds that were labeled with pink flowers that made her tear up. Coran got some sort of… thing. Lance wasn’t sure what it was but it was big, mechanical, and sentient. 

“Thank you, for the gift,” Lance looked at the small alien in front of him, taking the journal and pen from him and bowed slightly, a sign of respect to the inhabitants of the planet. 

The alien smiled, following Lance’s bow with his own, “You’re welcome. It’s quite easy to see how much you’ve missed writing.” 

Lance’s grin faltered, his body freezing up for a second, “I’m sorry, what?” These aliens didn’t know anything about his writing. His book was on Earth, as far as he knew, and only Earth. 

He didn’t have time to write in space and he shouldn’t waste time doing it. He was in war, he didn’t have the luxury to take time to himself and write stories like he used to. 

The alien wrapped his arm around Lance’s shoulder, guiding him away from the city’s plaza and to a nearby bench. 

He sat down, pointing to the open seat behind him. Lance took initiative and took his place beside the council man.

“Look at these people, Red Paladin. Every one of my people are happy because they have what they need.” The alien shifted his body, turning his head to meet the Red Paladin’s gaze. 

“Our people have an ability to see what a person needs, to look into their minds and fish out what they long for. We have a tradition every few months to check over our people to make sure that they are healthy, that they have everything they need. 

For us, we understand that we want can be we need.  An object to reminisce about home-“ he gestured to Hunk, “Something that helps you find your family,” he moved his hand to Pidge, “Something that will help protect your family,” he pointed at Keith, “and something that reminds you of home.” He ended with Allura, letting his hand linger for a second before folding it in his lap.

“But most of all,” the alien pointed to his heart, a clawed finger digging to the center of his chest, “Something that will protect you.” 

The alien placed a gentle hand on Lance’s shoulder, a comforting gesture that reminded Lance of his brother and how he would do the same to try and cheer Lance up. 

Running his finger along the spine, Lance stared down at the journal in his lap. He fiddled with the pen in his other hand, he hesitated, voice breaking as he opened his mouth to speak, “How is a journal supposed to protect me?”

“Paladin, if a person’s mentality is not healthy, then neither is their body. First you must protect your own self or else you won’t be able able to protect those you love,” he pointed to the rest of the Paladins, “and those who are family. A weak mind is prone to slip ups. It can easily turn sour and will hurt more than it will love. You may prioritize your family, but you won’t be able to do anything if you’re body is too weak to do so. Do you understand?”

Lance turned the book in his hands to that the back of the journal was facing upward. It was true. Lance wouldn’t be able to protect anyone if he is too caught up in trying to control his thoughts. He needed a way out and these people had just given him his escape. 

Lance smiled softly at the alien beside him, eyes softening with thanks and appreciation. “Yes,” Lance’s voice was small but the answer was strong, “I do.”

“Lance! Look!” Hunk called out to him, drawing his attention away from the kind elder in the seat beside him to his best friend. 

Hunk stood beside Pidge and Keith, balancing multiple plates on his arms and on one of his legs. The other two had their arms outstretched, ready to catch the wobbling plates if Hunk where to slip or lose his balance. 

“Good job, buddy! Be careful not to fall, though!” Lance shouted. He stood up, tucking the journal into his side. 

He offered a hand to the elder beside him, pulling him up and helping to steady him as the council man swayed. 

“Thank you, so much,” Lance bowed, clutching the moleskine notebook to his chest. 

The elder only smiled, wrapping gentle arms around Lance for a soft hug before letting Lance go. 

“Lance!”

Lance bowed a final time, before turning away to join the rest of the Paladins. 

This was his family and he would protect them no matter the cost. 


	8. Bad Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: Self-Harm

Lance was tired of this game.

The game of cat and mouse.

The game of caring.

The game of life.

The game of bad endings.

He was tired of it.

Lance didn't care anymore. It's not like Keith was the first to ever find out about it. Hell, he wasn't even the first to grab Lance and pull his sleeves up without asking. It's all apart of the game. The game where they find out and the ending where they leave.

"Why?" Keith had asked him.

_Why? Why not?_

Lance only shrugged, trying to pull his arm out of Keith's grip. "I don't know," he offered, not bothering to try again as Keith's fingers curled even tighter around his wrist.

Lance hissed, the pressure from Keith's fingers digging into the fresh wounds sending small jolts of pain up his arm.

"That's bullshit," and Keith was right. It was bullshit. Everything was bullshit.

The cuts on his wrist were nothing new. It's been  _years_  since he'd started and he's never stopped. People have tried. People offering their free time to talk to him or telling him that he needs to go get professional help.

But they all left at some point.

Even Hunk had found out during their early years at the Garrison but it only came up once and then the topic was never brought up again.

His parents met with a doctor and got him meds but even the pills didn't do anything. The only thing that helped was the razor. He didn't know what it was that he was ' _helping_ ' but it made him feel better.

Maybe it was the empty feeling his stomach or the loneliness that he held in his heart, but it helped something and that's all that matters.

Keith dropped Lance's arm, moving so that both arms gripped tightly on his biceps. 'This isn't okay."

Lance nodded, the routine was old. He'd gone through this conversation many times and each time he only got scolded.

Keith stepped closer, their chests touching, " Why do you think it's okay to hurt yourself?"

Lance shrugged, "It was just another thing on my list of things wrong with me. A game, I guess. I was just hurting myself, wasn't like I was grabbing someone's arm and doing it to them. I was hurting me and I'm me. I don't care if I'm hurting myself. It calmed me down and I could feel something. It also kept me from falling apart during missions so it was a win-win."

Keith stepped back, grip loosening enough for Lance to yank his arms away. He stared at Keith. The man who had the audacity to pretend to care.

Lance stepped forward towards the door behind Keith, the older body blocking his exit. He hit his shoulder against Keith on his way out.

He got two steps behind Keith before hands wrapped around his arms and slammed him into a wall.

The force of the impact caused him to bounce off the wall before the bands moved to his wrists and he was pinned to the wall.

Lance struggled, twisting his body and trying to kick Keith away but that only resulted in Keith pinning his body down with his own.

Despite the intimate position, it was anything but that.

His wrists stung with the treatment, Lance's pulse was everywhere and his breathing was labored, and he wanted  _out._

But that's not how the game worked.

To get past the level you wait, you be patient. You stay calm even if your leg is bouncing.

He knew how to play the game, but _why was it so difficult this time._

Keith had his head pressed against Lance's shoulder, black tuffs of hair brushing against the right side of Lance's neck. "It's not a win-win, Lance." Keith's voice was small and muffled but Lance could still hear it perfectly.

"You're destroying yourself. You're hurting the team. You don't think you are, but you are. Everyone knows something is wrong but all you do is smile and laugh and walk away and it's so  _fucking_  hard to get to you. And when I do, I found out that you've been doing this."

More pressure was applied to his wrists for just a moment before they softened considerably. Loose enough for Lance to flex his wrists if he tried, but strong enough to keep him there.

"Dammit, Lance. We're here for you. We're trying to help but you keep refusing it and..."

Lance held his breath, his body closing down. His mind went blank, a completely wiped slate leaving behind a white nothingness.

Keith sniffled, pressing his head further into Lance's body, trying to hide the tears running down his cheeks. "We want to help. I want to help."

Keith let go of Lance, instead, wrapping his arms around his waist pulling Lance closer to him.

"It's not a game to us, Lance," Keith whispered, his arms tightening around Lance's body. "Please."

Lance smiled, unable to stop his own tears from falling. He threw his arms around Keith, fully engulfing him in a tight embrace.

This time, Lance would get a happy ending.


	9. Not dead but not Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: Self harm mention

Lance hated this feeling.

It was like it was pulling him apart but keeping him together.

He felt gross, a friend had confessed to him but he didn’t feel the same and felt objectified after said friend looked him up and down. He was asked to homecoming but he didn’t want to go with that person. He wanted homecoming to be special and to go with his friends like they had planned for a while but his friend couldn’t accept that. He was taken but the friend ignored it. He was only a piece of meat for him.

His grades were slipping despite it being the beginning of the year. He couldn’t find the motivation to do him work.

His friends were splitting apart. He watched as he was replaced by someone better. Someone prettier and funnier and less needy.

He wanted out of his relationship but couldn’t find it in himself to break up with her. Lance loved her but she deserved better. She deserved someone who was certain of themselves and was there to care for her.

He was tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing mattered. Not even himself.

He almost relapsed, the only thing stopping him was the fear that someone would see it in the locker room and report it to the staff.

He didn’t want to die. That was certain. He liked life. He loved his family, he loved the outdoors, the ocean. Rain.

But he didn’t want to be alive either. Didn’t want the stress, the pressure to do better, being told that he has to choose his life long career now even though he was two weeks into his freshman year. It was hurting him.

It choked him, stealing away his breath and suffocated him beneath piles of pillows of stress and problems.

Lance wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t living either.


	10. Blue Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone plagiarized my fic once. I retaliated by having Lance torture a person. This is a few months old but it's okay. 
> 
> Tw: Torture, blood, carving into the skin, insanity, major descriptions of violent acts, biting, cutting off the tongue, pulling out teeth, stabbing, a lot of shit.

Lance looked down at the knife in his hand, then to the warm body in front of him.

The alien struggled against the bonds, eyes wide and pleading as Lance stalked forward. Lance pressed the tip of the blade against the larger alien’s cheek, nicking the skin there causing it to bleed a dark blue color. Lance watched with morbid fascination as it dripped down his cheek onto Lance’s waiting finger.

He rolled the drop between his index and thumb, smearing it over the pads of his fingers. It was warm and stuck his finger together for just a second before splitting away from them.

Lance had weighed what he was doing in his head before he had started.

Was it wrong?

Yes.

Did he deserve it?

Lance looked to the quivering figure, his blue blood mixing with red to form a purple mixture of blood and sweat.

Yes.

Lance dragged the edge of the knife down the alien’s arm, half ignoring and half enjoying the scream that tore from the larger’s throat. He flinched as the blue blood leaked out of the small scratch, interjoining with the red blood covering the other’s clothing.

Lance wasn’t any better. His armor was stained red, a rusty maroon color was decorated with scruffs and bullet wound just above his left shoulder. Lance’s hair was probably everywhere and he most definitely was coughing up blood but he didn’t care.

Half the blood on him wasn’t his anyway.

The alien groaned once more as Lance carved into his skin, his hand still shaking with adrenaline. Each letter meant something, each symbol a scar that would stay on the alien’s body forever.

He continued despite the other’s cries of pain, digging deeper to get an even louder scream.

He deserves this. He deserves to feel pain. He deserves everything.

Lance knew he was going to die at some point, but this monster in front of him. Lance hopes that he lives forever, reliving every moment of this.

Lance finished one carving, moving onto the next, trailing his knife down until it was pressed against the monster’s bicep about two inches down from the last cut. Lance grinned as he tore into muscle, watching with delight as the body next to his spasmed with pain.

“You did this to yourself. You did this,” Lance reminded him, moving onto the next letter. Blood was pouring now, falling down over Lance’s unfinished work. He growled, inpatient and animalistic and he carelessly scrubbed away the blood, barely hearing the shout of the other over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Lance had about 30 minutes before Shiro and Allura arrive and damn him if he wasn’t going to use this time wisely.  

Lance added a small mark beside the fresh cuts, digging into the skin just as he had with the carving above it. The words may fade but this symbol never will. It was carved far into muscle, possibly hitting bone.

One last carving. One last mark and then he was done. Then he was alright. Then he could lay down and rot. His job would be over.

This one...the alien was going to feel this for a long, long time.

Lance stabbed the monster’s arm, laughing at the throat-ripping scream he was able to get out of the creature. He dragged it down, ripping into everything. Veins burst, navy blood squirting out of the lacerations. He stabbed again, slashing diagonally to complete the letter. He kept going, stabbing and slashing, blind to the anger welling up inside of him. He could barely hear the pleas to stop, his body slowly becoming numb to the blood.

He barely flinched as some of the alien’s blood made it into his mouth, the tangy taste only driving Lance to push the knife in further.

Lance’s eyes flickered the red around the creature's mouth, unable to ignore the stain anymore then he was attempting to.

He ripped away the knife from his arm, the mark beside the work true to its color.

Lance took the alien’s jaw, grabbing its lips and it one swift movement, cut it off. The roar of pain shook the ceiling, the walls threatening to collapse.

Lance, however, ignored it, taking the monster’s face, prying open its mouth, and dug into its molars, prying off the teeth above it. He ignored the tears running down the alien’s face, repaying a debt the alien hadn’t wanted in the first place.

He tore out more teeth, cutting away skin and bone until all that was left was his tongue.

The body beneath him gasped, pathetic whines escaping from the back of his throat. Lance shoved his fingers down his throat, pinching the creatures tongue and pulling it out. Lance held it firm against the knife, slowly pressing down until the knife began to cut through the muscle.

“Lance?”

Lance didn’t bother turning around. He knew who it was and he didn’t care. He knew what the room looked like, he was trapped in it for two days but didn’t care. Not anymore.

Shiro watched in horror and the knife finished cutting through and the alien’s tongue fell to the floor.

Lance only stared at it, his expression blank and his body numb. He didn’t look at Shiro, only pointing to the back left corner of the room.

Shiro followed the finger, his breath hitching before he could begin to move forward.

Hunk was propped so that he was sitting against the wall, clearly unconscious with a large wound bleeding from his shoulder from what seemed to be a bite mark. Shiro matched the marks with the sharp teeth scattered around Lance. Hunk groaned, rolling his head to the other shoulder.

Pidge was conscious, although the pain must have numbed to some amount. She crawled forward, gasping as she coughed up more blood. She poked at the body next to her, calling out his name in hopes of getting a reaction.

The body didn’t move and Shiro couldn’t find it in himself to move forward.

“Keith,” Pidge coughed more, her voice cracking, “Keith, get up.”

Keith stayed still, unmoving as the world continued around him. Shiro couldn’t see his chest moving and was torn between stopping Lance, who was now stabbing the knife into the alien’s legs or checking Keith for a pulse.

Shiro panicked, freezing up. There was blood everywhere, blue blood stained Lance’s armor, turning it purple instead of red. Lance was covered in it while Keith was in his own puddle, unmoving and unresponsive.

Shiro swore, running beside Lance. He pried away the knife from Lance's grip, ignoring Lance’s shout of disapproval. He tossed the blade to the other side of the room.

Lance was pliant in Shiro’s arms as if he himself were dead. Shiro let him go, concern washing over him as Lance only curled into a tiny ball.

Shiro turned his attention to the names carved into the alien’s arm.

He pried his eyes away, crawling towards Keith and Pidge.

Pidge buried her head in Keith’s chest, sobbing apologies.  

Shiro’s blood ran cold.

He pressed his fingers to Keith’s wrist, his mind hazing as he felt nothing. He muttered to himself, pressing into Keith’s neck trying to find a pulse.

It was there, but it was faint.

Keith is almost deadthe and if the injuries on his body meant anything, the tied up beast was the reason behind it.

And suddenly the carvings weren’t as bad as he had thought. He watched the alien struggle in his confinement, screaming as the rope dug into the cut.

Along the top of his arm, Lance had written Hunk, the Voltron symbol carved next to his skin. Beneath it was Pidge, the same mark next to her name.

The last name was barely legible, the skin surrounding it was shredded but once you knew what it was meant to be, you could see it perfectly. It was a miracle the alien hasn't bled out yet with the amount of blood flowing from Keith’s name. It oozed navy blue blood, the liquid dripping down his arm and as morbid and wrong as Shiro had found it, he couldn’t help but be apathetic to the alien.

Shiro picked up Keith, hailing the castle ship to come down and to prepare four pods. 


	11. White Gardenias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is like, 200 words. I'm taking a break from Work Harder.

Keith never cared much for flowers.

They were pretty, he guessed, but living in the desert kept him from seeing them.

But the gardenias growing in his lungs? He loved those.

They killed him, poisoning him and suffocating him in the most beautiful ways. It reminded him of the boy he loved, of the boy he cared the most about. How his secret admiration of him was bringing him closer to death.

At first, he hated them. They represented his failure. How the one he loved would never love him back. That his stupid feelings were gonna kill him.

Now he misses them.

Blood covered cyclamen covered the ground.

_He's gone._

A painful reminder of the body of his lover, the heart of the team, in the room over. Covered in blood, a bullet in his chest, and  _gone_.

Cyclamen, a final goodbye. 


	12. Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not okay. It’a short and I wrote this during the times started in the chapter.

Lance stared at his clock. 00:13 blinked back at him in bright red numbers that mocked him with every minute of rest we won't get. Every moment passing by is a minute of sleep he won't get and every second passing is another heavy stone dropped on top of his shoulders.

He wanted to sleep, longing for the bliss that came with closing his eyes and escaping the cruel reality for just a few hours but he couldn't close his eyes long enough to fall asleep.

Every assignment that he hasn't done rung in the back of his head. An article due in three, now two days was an ever-pressing shadow looming in his mind. His lack of understanding in math due to missing class because of swim competitions came to bite him in the ass as piles of math worksheets sat incorrectly done in the bottomless pit that was his backpack.

00:19. The clock still blared. Maybe if he stared hard enough the red would overtake him and he would be so distracted that the constant presence of overwhelming assignments looming over his shoulders could be forgotten but this was all wishful thinking, of course.

He wouldn't be able to forget the packets of math homework he doesn't understand or the textbook pages filled with questions that he needed to answer for French class or the biology homework that he hasn't had the chance to do nor the English assignment due two days ago. He didn't want to think about the article that would have him cramming everything together on Thursday night nor the lack of sleep he's going to get for the rest of the week.

Lance was so... useless... in a way. He knew that his workload would become too much but he signed up for these classes anyway. He should have dropped journalism in exchange for another class, an easier, less time-consuming class. He shouldn't have joined the swim team and the water polo team. He was struggling, trying to keep his grades from slipping but somehow they managed to drop further and further down.

00:27. At this point, he would only get a few hours of sleep. Was it worth it at this point? To close his eyes and hope by some God that he get some kind of meaningful rest. Time for his body to rest from back to back games and practices and studying and stressing.

There was no time for sleeping now. Every moment of his should be spent better. Studying. Practicing. Working. Stressing. Worrying. Crying. Sobbing.

Breaking.

There was no time for anything anymore.

No time for friends, for family, for his own interests. No time to develop himself into his own person, instead of taking shape into the mold that others have built for him.

Lance was too overwhelmed with everything. There was no time to be Lance anymore. He was too overwhelmed to have time for that. Too tired to fight back. He was done. There was no time for rest.

Lance was done.


	13. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My grandfather died this morning and I needed to vent.

Lance was so, so tired.

 

His eyes were swollen from constantly crying and were irritated from the vast amount of times he had tried to rub the tears away.

 

He knew that this was coming. He had video called him yesterday after getting news that his heart had stopped for the second time that week. The man on the other side couldn’t open his eyes, one of Lance’s cousins having to hold one open so he could see Lance and could only make soft, painful sounds.

 

It was wishful thinking that he would have lasted another four months. Lance’s grandfather was strong but just looking at him was painful.

 

His grandfather meant a lot to Lance. The early mornings when he would wake up in Cuba to the sound of loud News channels and weather forecasts for the upcoming week, the cute pictures of his abuelo in sunglasses holding up a peace sign for the camera pinned up on the wall in the living room, him refusing to call him ‘Lance’ because ‘Alejandro is a perfect name for a perfect man. Shorting it would be to shorten the meaning and value of the word.’ These small things were what made Lance’s childhood.

 

Now there would be no early programs blasting in the living room at ten in the morning or soft shuffling of feet when moving from one room to the other. No new pictures of Abuelo in sunglasses or smiling for the camera.

 

Lance broke down multiple times throughout the day. The first was during his third period when he ranted to Hunk about his abuelo and how he was barely clutching onto life. The second was after he was given the news.

 

Veronica was the one who told him. She had picked him up from school and after turning into their neighborhood she had told him that Abuelo had passed earlier that morning.

 

Lance cried silently in the car, trying not to gain the attention of Veronica in the seat next to him.

 

He cried once more with his mother. He’ll never forget her shaking form as she clutched onto him and sobbed into his shoulder. Her wobbly voice apologizing for not being the one to tell him and for not texting him. Lance only hushed her, telling her that it was “alright” and that he “understood.”

 

He cried in Hunk’s arms again later that night for only a short time as he had still gone to support Allura at her Improv performance. Lance has promised that he would go and didn’t want to disappoint her.

 

Now he sat empty, staring up at the ceiling with no purpose. He didn’t know what to do. His body was so heavy and tired and his entire soul seemed to drag him further into his bed sheets but he still couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to. This would be the first night he would sleep without his Abuelo in the world.

 

Lance didn’t sleep.


End file.
